


I Don't Know What's Going On

by PorcupineGirl



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bitty knew first, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Diverges somewhere between 2.5 and 2.6, First Dates, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Museums, Sharing a Bed, Smithsonian, Stuck in a strange city together, Washington D.C., bitty blushes a lot, but only by like four hours, what is that not a canonical tag?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorcupineGirl/pseuds/PorcupineGirl
Summary: A winter storm means SMH's flight home from Washington D.C. is cancelled. Incredibly, Jack and Bittysomehowwind up being the only two who have to spend the night there. You won't believe how many beds are in their hotel room!Or, Jack drags Bittle to museums until he finally figures out why looking at Bittle makes his tummy feel funny.





	I Don't Know What's Going On

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm never writing a getting-together-before-graduation fic again.
> 
> Also me: I'M NevER wRITinG a GeTtINg-tOGEthEr-bEFoRe-GRadUaTIon FiC AGaiN
> 
> I had this idea months ago, just the general idea of them getting stuck in some random city together. I didn't decide it was D.C. until I was a few paragraphs into the fic. Would SMH actually fly if they had a game in D.C.? I have absolutely no idea, nor do I care. It's far enough away to be plausible. Nobody wants to spend 8 hours on a bus. And then once they were in D.C. the rest of their day seemed pretty obvious.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who offered info on the Museum of American History on Tumblr, though I'd already found the right photos to get the details I needed (I think). If I mess any of it up feel free to let me know.
> 
>  **A word on canon continuity:** omgeverythingplease puts comic 2.6 on Nov 17, but that seems a bit early for them to be baking for their final project. So my timeline for this fic: This takes place Sunday, Nov 30. Winter Screw is next Sat, Dec 6, and they are planning to do their baking in the week between. So Bitty doesn't yet realize the full extent of his feelings for Jack when this story starts, though he clues in earlier in the story than Jack does. 
> 
> I'm honestly just so relieved to have written something under 10K that I could finish in a few days and that didn't spiral out of control and turn into yet another half-finished longfic.
> 
> The title is from [Unexpected Song](https://youtu.be/C4qGvXdcutE?t=4m54s). If the YT link doesn't go to the right timestamp, it's the second song she sings, at 4:54 - or you can just watch the whole thing because Bernadette, amirite?
> 
> Additional note: Despite my research, I failed on a few details, so *handwaves* the Washington Monument is now magically open until 10pm like Google claims it is (and walkup tickets were in ample supply b/c of the storm btw), and the Metro somehow cleared the tracks over the Potomac within a few hours of the storm ending. The same fairy that ensured they'd get a room with one bed did all of this.

"Thank you so much," Jack says to Crystal, the woman behind the United counter whom he, Murray, and Hall have spent the past fifteen minutes talking to. "I know you have hundreds of people to deal with, sorry for taking up so much of your time."

Crystal laughs. "It would've taken a lot longer to get through all twenty-five of you individually," she points out. "Believe me, this was not a problem. Good luck."

They head back to the corner of the gate that SMH has staked out to deliver the news. Not the greatest news, but better than it could be given the circumstances.

"They can get half of us on a flight in an hour," Hall reports, "assuming that one doesn't get cancelled. But the snow is already letting up, so they're hopeful. Beyond that, we'll be on standby for the rest of the day. Hopefully we can get everyone else taken care of, one or two people per flight."

There's a lot of groaning, but Jack stops it with a single clearing of his throat. "Look, we're lucky to get as many people on as we have. I'm sure we'll all get back to Samwell tonight."

"So who gets the golden tickets?" Holster calls out from the corner.

"Frogs first," Jack starts, and is immediately treated to protests from the upperclassmen. "Hey! No, seniors aren't automatically last. Frogs first, then we'll go by who has the earliest classes on Monday, so nobody with class first thing in the morning gets stuck on a late flight. And before you try to lie to me about your schedules, remember that Lardo already has them."

"I do take bribes," Lardo pipes up from her spot on the floor braiding Shitty's hair.

Jack sighs as half the team falls over themselves trying to offer things in exchange for Lardo claiming they have a 7am lecture.

 

Jack pulls Lardo aside before she can get too tempted and sits down with her to work out the priority order. At some point, two coffees appear next to them. Jack looks up and raises an eyebrow.

"That ain't a bribe," Bittle says, raising an eyebrow right back. "I don't have class 'til Tuesday, so it's not like I'm goin' anywhere. Y'all'll have plenty of time today to make it up to me."

"Wait, you don't have any classes at all on Mondays?" Jack asks.

"Nope," Bittle says. "First class of the week is our lecture Tuesday morning. Never thought I'd live to see the day when I regretted that particular scheduling choice," he adds with a sigh.

"Chin up, Bits," Lardo says. "Could be worse. We could've been trying to get the bus back through this shit."

 

They get ten people onto the next flight to Boston. After that, it's a bit of a crapshoot as to whether they get anyone on each flight. The blizzard cancelled dozens of flights, and the airport is packed with people trying to get a standby spot. Crystal becomes Jack's new best friend. Around one, he finds himself back at her desk yet again.

"You know," she says, "two seats just opened up on a flight tomorrow at noon. If two of you were willing to take those, you'd have guaranteed seats and United would provide you with a hotel room tonight and meal vouchers for dinner. They're gonna go quick, though."

Jack says they'll take the seats, but asks for a moment to figure out who will be in them. The coaches would stay, except that Murray's wife is nine months pregnant, and Jack and Hall have been trying to get him to get on an earlier flight as it is. Plus, that would leave Jack dealing with Monday morning practice alone, which is less than ideal. Jack would stay with Hall, but Hall points out that the NCAA would have his ass if he shared a hotel room with a student, and they can't guarantee that United could get them separate rooms.

The coaches are a little wary at the idea of leaving two students in D.C., but Jack insists that he's fine with staying.

"Okay," Hall finally says, "but nobody has to stay who doesn't want to. If you can't get a volunteer, we'll just all deal with standby."

"Sure, sure," Jack says. He turns to Crystal and hands her his information so she can start getting him booked on the flight, then steps back from the counter to wave over toward the team.

"Bittle!" he calls, and motions for Bittle to come over.

Jack explains the situation. "... so I know it's a lot to ask, but since you don't have class 'til Tuesday, would you be willing to stay overnight? We could leave the airport, we have a guaranteed seat tomorrow, and the airline pays for our hotel and dinner."

Bittle's eyes have been growing the entire time Jack has been talking. "Seriously? You think I'm gonna turn down basically a free one-day vacation in D.C.?"

Jack blinks. He's been so focused on practicalities all morning, it hadn't occurred to him to look at it that way. That… does sound like it could be fun. Especially with Bittle.

Wait, what?

He ignores that stray thought for now. "I guess? I hadn't really thought of it like that."

But Bittle is already digging out his ID and original boarding pass. "I've never been here except for games, and we can do whatever we want for the rest of the day, right? This is amazing!" He raises an eyebrow at Jack as he hands his information to Crystal. "You know we'll be missing practice tomorrow right? You gonna survive that?"

Jack just smirks. "There'll be practice Tuesday. But this might be my only chance to force you to spend a few hours in a history museum."

Bittle opens his mouth to retort, but then deflates, rolling his eyes. "Lord, I'm gonna be stuck in History City, USA, with the History Robot himself. What have I done?"

Jack remembers something—an article he saw about an exhibit. He leans his elbows on the service counter and tilts his head in closer to Bittle's. Their faces are inches apart, and Jack ignores that he can feel the warmth coming off of Bittle from here.

"We're definitely going to the Museum of American History," he says quietly. "And I might have to drag you there kicking and screaming, but I'll bet you a coffee that I'll also have to drag you out. By the end of the day, that's going to be your favorite museum you've ever been to."

Bittle turns to face him. He seems a little startled at how close Jack is, but doesn't pull away. "Is that so? Well, you're on, and I'm holding you to it."

Jack straightens up and offers his hand, and they shake on it. Crystal has their new boarding passes and vouchers ready by then.

If you'd asked him to choose a friend to hang out with all day in an unfamiliar city, he wouldn't have even had to think about it; the obvious answer would be Shitty. But now that he's committed to doing it with Bittle, he realizes that he'd… maybe prefer this?

…Probably because he's done road trips with Shitty before, explored cities with him. He's never done anything like this with Bittle. And since Bittle moved into the Haus, he's definitely become one of Jack's close friends. Closer than Ransom and Holster, maybe approaching Shitty and Lardo territory. So of course Jack would want to hang out with him.

As he explains what's happening to the five remaining SMH members + Lardo, and double- and triple-checks with Lardo, Hall, and Murray that they've got it under control, that thought keeps turning over in the back of his head. Something seems off about it, like he's missing his own point.

All he knows is that he's looking forward to the next twenty-four hours a lot more than he was an hour ago. When Bittle finally takes him by the arm and starts dragging him away (with Lardo giving him a helpful shove), he's smiling.

 

United sends them to the Holiday Inn closest to the airport. Jack is just glad they were flying out of Reagan instead of Dulles, so they're not stuck at some hotel out in the suburbs with no way to get into the city. Unfortunately, they are not the only stranded travelers United has sent to the Holiday Inn today. Their complimentary shuttle there is packed, and it's clearly not the first one to go there. Since it mostly seems to be families with kids, he and Bittle let them all go ahead of them in line. They hang back, talking about the final project for their food class. Bittle chirps Jack about needing help with the food part and Jack chirps Bittle for not having started the paper part yet.

By the time they get up to the counter, the woman behind it—Shawna, according to her nametag—looks exhausted. They show her their vouchers and she gives them a slightly worried look.

"You're staying together, right? Because we only have one room left."

They assure her that yes, they're traveling together, and she types something into her computer. Then she starts to look downright panicky.

"Oh, no. Okay, I am so, _so_ sorry about this." Jack's heart sinks. He wonders how hard it will be to find another hotel. With the storm, this can't be the only one that's sold out. He'll start by calling United and see if they work with any others… "We've been assigning rooms on a first come, first serve basis, and it looks like the only room we have left only has one king bed."

"Oh!" Jack blinks in confusion. That's why she's so worried? That seems fine.

"Do you have any of those, like, roll-away beds or anything?" Bittle asks, and Jack probably should have thought of that.

"Let me double-check," she says, but she doesn't look hopeful. Jack thinks of all those families with all those kids in line before them. Shawna runs back to some store room somewhere, but is back in less than a minute, shaking her head. "No, we are completely out. We have one crib left, but I don't think either of you will fit in that." She tries to laugh, but it sounds strained. Jack feels sorry for her, and laughs louder than usual to humor her. It startles Bittle. "I can call other hotels for you—"

"It's fine," Jack says. "King size beds are big, and he's little, we'll fit. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure?" Shawna asks, at the same time Bittle puts a hand on his hip and says, "Ex _cuse_ me, Mr. Zimmermann, I cannot _believe_ —"

"Bittle, you can yell at me for being taller than you later, let's get the room and get our stuff put away so we can go sightseeing, eh?"

 

They take the stairs up to the second floor, and on the way up, Jack hears Bittle pause behind him. Jack stops and looks down at him. He's looking at his feet.

"All cracks about my height aside," he says, not looking up, "you sure you're okay with this? I'm sure we can figure something out—"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Jack asks. He knows there'll be plenty of room for both of them; he's shared a king-sized bed with Shitty before. Bittle looks up at him in surprise.

"Because…" He raises his eyebrows and looks at Jack like the rest of the sentence should be obvious, but Jack shakes his head. Bittle takes a deep breath and sighs it out, and Jack feels bad that he's trying Bittle's patience, but he's really not sure—"Because we're going to be sleeping in the same bed, together, next to each other, and… I'm _gay_?"

Jack opens his mouth, but he's struck dumb. His first instinct is to be hurt that Bittle would think that _he_ , of all people, would be worried about that, but he pushes that aside. He doesn't know Bittle's entire history, but he's spent enough time working on checking with him to know that there's a reason he wanted out of Georgia. And he knows, unfortunately, that sometimes people aren't homophobic—right up until they are. That there are lines, and if one gets crossed things fall apart quickly.

And it's not like Bittle knows about _Jack_.

He thinks about making a throwaway joke about Shitty cuddling naked and moving on, but instead he turns around fully to face Bittle, or face him as well as he can when Bittle is several stairs down from him. He goes down a couple steps so he's not looming quite as much.

"Bittle," he says, then waits until he has eye contact. "That's not a problem. _That_ will _never_ be a problem."

Bittle's eyes are so _big_. And so _brown_. A blush creeps over Bittle's cheeks as they stand there, staring at each other. Jack is a little disappointed when he finally looks away.

"Okay," Bittle murmurs. He doesn't quite look like it's okay. Or maybe he doesn't quite look like _he's_ okay. Maybe Jack was being too serious about it, maybe he made it too big a deal. Now Bittle's embarrassed. Shit.

"And anyhow," Jack says as he turns back around and starts back up the stairs, trying to keep his voice light, "I've shared smaller beds than that with Shitty. Of course, I lived to regret that, but unlike Shitty, you're a _considerate friend_ who would never wrap yourself around me while naked."

Bittle laughs behind him, but Jack swallows. That was a dumb thing to say, because now he's thinking about Bittle wrapping himself around him while naked, and _no, no, no_. He's usually so good at ignoring how attractive any of his friends are, even if Bittle has… tested that ability repeatedly this semester. He does _not_ need to fuck this up and make everything awkward thinking things he shouldn't be thinking when they're going to be sharing a bed.

Especially, he tells himself as they get to their room and he pulls the key card out, because if Bittle can tell that Jack is feeling at all awkward about this, he'll go back to assuming _he's_ the problem. That's the last thing Jack wants, and remembering that makes it a lot easier to put those thoughts out of his head.

 

They stow their bags and freshen up a little. Bittle realizes with dismay that neither of them has clean clothes for the next day, Jack promises to buy him a souvenir t-shirt, and Bittle throws a pillow at him.

"That's your side of the bed now," Jack says, picking up the pillow and tossing it back to him. "I get the pillows that _haven't_ been on the floor."

Bittle acts huffy about it, but he also blushes.

They double-check that they know where they're going, and head out toward the Metro stop. Bittle starts complaining about the cold the moment they step out of the hotel.

It _is_ pretty cold, but it's also beautiful. It snowed nine inches overnight and this morning, and the snow is fresh and clean and sparkling.

The subway is not so fresh or sparkling, but he gets to chirp Bittle for being bad at keeping his balance on the train, so it's okay.

"Not all of us grew up in a city with actual public transportation," Bittle pouts, and Jack pushes down the sudden impulse to kiss the pout away.

Jesus, that naked comment earlier was a bad idea.

They get off at L'Enfant Plaza and walk to the Mall. Bittle looks around with wide eyes as he keeps up his usual stream of chatter. Jack likes watching him.

"I just love big cities like this, but I just about never get to visit them," he says after a couple of blocks. "I should go into Boston more often. Obviously, you should sign with the Bruins or the Falconers next year, Jack, just so I've got a reason to visit a city."

Jack imagines Bittle taking the commuter rail from Samwell, staying in his guest room (baking in Jack's kitchen), coming to a game. His stomach twists in a way that's kind of nice.

He shouldn't put too much weight on where his friends are, of course, especially since who knows if any of them will stay in the area after they graduate. But suddenly, signing somewhere where Bittle can visit him feels important.

They walk out into the Mall, and Bittle gasps loudly. He turns in a full circle as they walk (how can he do that so gracefully but not stay upright on a train without clinging to a pole like a koala?), eyes bright and smile wide, taking in everything. It's gratifying to see.

Bittle takes dozens of photos, and Jack even deigns to take a selfie with him, the Washington Monument way back in the background. They make their way to the Museum of American History, Jack having to continually reassure Bittle that no, if they only have time to see one today, this is the one they should go to.

"Jeez, Bittle, it's not even my country, we're going there for _you_ —"

"Okay, Mr. Dual Citizen, not your country my ass."

"So I'm Canadian when you want to chirp me for liking cold weather, but now suddenly you remember I've got dual citizenship…"

When they get into the museum, Bittle grabs a map and starts to open it, then squawks when Jack takes it away.

"Hold on, hold on," he says, angling the map away from Bittle. "Okay, good, it's still here. There's a specific exhibit I think you'll like, so we should do it last. Let me navigate so it can be a surprise."

Bittle gives him a dubious look, but relents, and after a brief look at the map Jack leads him to the second floor.

They go to the Star Spangled Banner flag first, just to get it out of the way. Bittle doesn't have much to say about it beyond an earnest-sounding "Oh, that's neat!"

He's far more impressed by the exhibits that chronicle the details of American life and culture, as Jack knew he would be. Jack hasn't been to the Smithsonian in a few years, and they've cycled out quite a few things, so he has a lot to look at, too—but he finds himself spending half his time watching Bittle. Watching his brow furrow as he reads the story of a family that lived in the house on display; watching his eyes light up when he spots some WWII-era cookbooks; watching him exclaim over the first ladies' dresses.

"Ah, here we are," Bittle says as they approach an exhibit on World War I. "We finally found your part of the museum."

"I like the whole thing," Jack says, bumping Bittle with his shoulder. "It's all history."

"I gotta admit, I was expecting this whole thing to be nothing but, like, wars and Presidents," Bittle says, shaking his head. "I didn't realize it has so much about how just normal people lived. Let alone Dorothy's ruby slippers!"

"That's all history is," Jack says with a shrug. "Millions of people living their lives."

"Well, aren't you deep?" Bittle chirps, and although the look he's giving Jack is a smirk, it's soft somehow. Jack likes it.

 

Finally, after nearly two hours of exploring, Jack steers them to the real reason they're here: an exhibit titled "FOOD: Transforming the American Table 1950–2000." When Bittle sees the sign, he grabs Jack's arm and his eyes might go wider than Jack's ever seen them.

"Are you kidding me?" He rushes forward to look through the glass display window. Jack follows, not so rushed, and catches up just in time to hear him murmuring, "Is that…? Wait, is this really? No way."

He startles Jack by stepping back abruptly and taking off to one side, trying to get around the wall at the front of the exhibit so he can view what's in the glass display from another angle. Jack takes a look through the window to see… a kitchen. An old kitchen, but it also has a few newer-looking appliances in it. It takes him a second to remember the article he'd read, and whose kitchen it is.

When Jack catches up to Bittle, he's standing at another window, this one set into a wall with a plaque explaining that this is Julia Child's kitchen, donated to the museum directly from her home in Cambridge, MA. Bittle is staring reverently, one hand over his mouth and one over his heart.

There are windows to view the kitchen from three of its four walls, and they take their time looking through all of them. Bittle takes several photos, including a couple of selfies, then gasps. "Oh my goodness, I gotta put this on my vlog!" Jack smiles and pats him on the shoulder, then goes on to look at the next display while Bittle starts taking video clips, narrating everything on display for his viewers.

Eventually, Bittle has seen enough of Julia Child's kitchen and joins Jack to go through the rest of the exhibit, his enthusiasm never dimming. He jokes that maybe they should be taking notes for class, but they do wind up having a few conversations about how the displays relate to things they've studied. In the end, they even take some notes, along with photos and videos to show Prof. Atley, and Jack promises to help Bittle figure out how you cite a museum exhibit in a paper.

Jack hasn't enjoyed himself this much off the ice in years. Giving Bittle this kind of experience, making him this happy, feels like a major achievement. It's exhilarating, as good as sinking a puck into the net.

Nothing he's done with Shitty or Lardo has ever felt like this. He loves them, cherishes them, and of course he likes to see them enjoying themselves. He likes making them laugh, likes helping them.

But spending time with them has never felt… like hockey. Like he's doing something he was made to do. It's weird.

Jack gazes at Bittle, who is too absorbed in reading about the rise of ethnic foods in the American kitchen to notice. He thinks about the fond way Bittle looked at him when he explained some obscure bit of World War I trivia that related to a display. The indulgent smile on Bittle's face as Jack got excited about some Revolutionary War artifacts.

Well, good. They're friends, they're having fun together, they enjoy seeing each other get excited about something. That's good.

 

Bittle needs to use the bathroom when they're done, and while he's in there, Jack ducks into the museum shop.

Bittle is waiting for him when he comes out. "Oh, you got a souvenir?" he asks brightly. "What'd you get?"

Jack gives him a shit-eating grin and hands him a shirt with the sign for the food exhibit on it. Bittle holds it up in front of him with a sigh. He's rolling his eyes, but there's no denying that he looks pleased. "I can't believe you actually got me a shirt, you ridiculous man."

"I got one for myself, too," Jack points out. He sidles up next to Bittle and opens the bag to show him the more generic Smithsonian shirt inside. "Now we both have clean clothes to wear on the plane tomorrow."

Bittle just peers in the bag and shakes his head. He nudges Jack with his shoulder. He nudges, but also kind of stays there, not-quite-leaning on Jack. "I guess I do owe you a coffee, mister, because this museum is incredible."

Jack has a reflexive urge to wrap his arm around Bittle's waist. His arm twitches a little as he wills it not to do that. Even if it might be… nice.

Instead, he pulls out his phone and double-checks a few things. He already looked all this up, of course, but he doesn't want to mess things up with bad information. That's definitely why he does this, and not because he _has_ to do something with his right arm before it slides itself around Bittle without his permission.

"You can buy me coffee in the morning," he says as he puts his phone back in his pocket. "It's about 4:30. Most of the museums close in an hour, so if you want to see another one we should go now. The other stuff is open a lot later than the museums."

"Oh, goodness," Bittle says as they walk toward the museum's front doors. "I suppose I better see the space one. Or what's the other super famous one? Natural history?"

"Hmmm." Jack considers their options. "I think probably the Air and Space Museum has more things you can't see anywhere else. Unless you really, _really_ want to see the Hope diamond."

"I did go through a very brief astronaut phase when I was about seven," Bittle muses. "Of course, that was before I found out you pretty much have to be a scientist or an engineer to qualify. Even at that age, I knew that wasn't happening."

"No?" Jack asks as they head back out into the snow, zipping their coats and pulling gloves and hats back on as they go. "Not even a food scientist?"

"I didn't know that was a thing that existed until I got to Samwell," Bittle says. "And I doubt they're looking for food scientists to perfect pie recipes on the International Space Station."

"But you're not considering it just… in general?" Jack asks. He knows Bittle has no idea what his post-college plans are, but it seems like a possibility.

Bittle is quiet for a minute as they walk. "I guess I hadn't really given it a lot of thought," he finally says. "Maybe I should ask Atley if there are any classes on it I could try. Some kind of low-level intro class, see how I do."

They walk along in silence for a minute. The Mall is beautiful in the snow, and there aren't too many people out and about. It's nice. Calm. Jack likes that he's sharing it with Bittle.

"I guess it's not crazy," Bittle pipes back up as they near the Air and Space Museum. "Everyone seems to think I should want to be a baker or something, but people always say if you turn your hobby into a job it sucks all the joy out of it. Plus, I don't particularly want to have to always be baking what other people want me to bake. Doing something else with food, though. Not making it all day, just… studying it somehow? That might be okay."

As they enter the museum and grab a map, Jack pictures it. Bittle doing some kind of crazy food experiments all day, making a better pectin for his jam maybe, then coming home and baking whatever he feels like to relax.

Well… well, not _coming_ home. _Going_ home. It's not like they'll still be living in the Haus.

The idea of Bittle going home to some other apartment while Jack sits in his own apartment stings for some reason. But then Bittle is pointing and exclaiming and tugging on Jack's sleeve, and the feeling passes.

Since they've got less than an hour, they go straight to the main attractions, like the lunar rover and the Spirit of St Louis. When they've got about fifteen minutes left, though, Bittle nudges him.

"How 'bout there?" Bittle asks, nodding toward an exhibit with World War II aircraft.

"You don't really care about those," Jack deflects. Bittle is the one who's never been here, and who knows when he'll be back. They should be seeing the things Bittle is interested in.

"But I'm not the only one here, am I?" Bittle replies, and pulls him toward the exhibit.

Jack has seen it before, once, years ago, but he can't pretend he doesn't want to check it out again. As they tour the exhibit, Bittle keeps asking him questions about things Jack can't imagine he actually cares about, but he listens to Jack's answers raptly. It's almost time to go when Jack notices the look on Bittle's face while he answers one last question—the smile, the affection in his eyes, a contentment that seems out of place. Why should Bittle be content in a room full of bombers?

Then, as Jack looks up at a Japanese fighter jet, he realizes—he's not. He's content with _Jack_. With seeing Jack enjoy himself. He feels the same way Jack felt an hour ago.

That's good. That's… Jack likes it, that Bittle cares about him like that. It feels important.

It _is_ important.

It leaves a glowing warmth in his chest as they join the herd of straggling patrons heading toward the exit as the museum closes.

They decide dinner can wait another hour or two, and Jack nudges Bittle in the direction of the Washington Monument.

"Gosh," Bittle says about halfway there, "as much as I hate the cold, I gotta say I'm kinda glad I got to see this in the snow. It's gorgeous."

"Yeah," Jack says. There's a word on the tip of his tongue to describe this. He can't quite reach it. This is… it's… it's nice, it's pretty, it's relaxing, it's fun… it's… hm.

"I mean, as long as the sidewalks have been cleared, of course," Bittle adds, smiling up at Jack. "Good thing we didn't try to come this morning."

Jack snorts and looks back down at Bittle. Bittle holds his gaze for a moment, then blushes and looks away, toward their destination.

Jack wants to take his hand.

 _Romantic_. That's what this is.

This is romantic, and he's sharing it with Bittle, and that's _why_ it's romantic. He wouldn't feel like this walking with any of his other friends, even with everything glistening in newfallen snow.

He could, really. Take Bittle's hand. Nobody here knows him, nobody's going to recognize a has-been Canadian junior hockey player who made a few headlines years ago.

He wonders how Bittle would react if he did.

Romantic. Huh. He's going to need to sit with that for a bit.

 

They ride to the top of the Washington Monument. With the snow, the view is even better than usual. Jack would almost think _romantic_ again, but honestly it's a little too crowded and dingy for that.

He thinks it on the way from there to the Lincoln Memorial, though.

It feels right. He likes it. It makes… well, it makes a lot of things make sense.

As Bittle marvels at how much bigger the statue of Lincoln is than he expected, Jack's hand finds its way to the small of his back. Just for a few seconds. Bittle glances at him as he pulls his hand away, but doesn't seem upset or offended.

"Okay, _now_ I'm definitely getting hungry," Bittle says later, once he's done ogling the enormous statue. "Those vouchers are only good at a couple of restaurants right by the hotel, right? We should probably head back."

Jack doesn't look at Bittle. He keeps his gaze on Lincoln's face nearly thirty feet above them. "Let's just get something near here," he says casually. "It's on me."

" _Jack_." Bittle smacks his arm. "You bought me a t-shirt already, I'm not letting you pay for dinner, too."

"Come on," Jack says, still not looking down. "The options by the hotel were, like, McDonald's and a sports bar."

Bittle huffs. "I suppose those don't sound great. There must be a Chipotle or something around here. But I'm buying my own meal."

Jack finally looks him in the eye.

"Please, Bits," he says, abandoning _casual_ entirely and probably going straight to _more earnest than necessary_ , "let me buy you dinner?"

"Um." Bittle swallows, blushing a little. He's been blushing so much today. "…Okay?"

"Great," Jack says, turning away and motioning for Bittle to follow, "because I've already got us reservations somewhere expensive enough that there's no way I'm letting you pay."

"What?" Bittle yelps, and dashes to catch up. "Jack Zimmermann, you did not."

Jack smiles at him. "I did. We're only here for one night, do you really want to spend it eating at a chain?"

Bittle opens his mouth a few times, but the only things that come out of it at first are a series of huffs and tsks.

"I am in no way presentable enough for a fancy restaurant," he finally says.

Jack rolls his eyes. "We're both wearing button-downs, that's nice enough for this place. It's not, like, jacket-required fancy. And anyhow... you look good."

He glances to the side to see how that landed. Bittle is determinedly not looking at him, but is blushing again.

"I must have the worst hat-head," Bittle mutters.

"So do I," Jack points out. "We're even."

Bittle sighs and shakes his head, but he's smiling.

 

They're early for their reservation, though thanks to the weather it looks like they probably didn't really need one. Bittle peeks at a menu while they wait, then squeaks and puts it down quickly.

"Jack!" he stage-whispers, leaning close. "I can't let you—"

Jack subtly kicks Bittle's foot. "Yes, you can. We're here, it's too late."

Bittle gives a put-upon sigh, but changes the subject.

It makes Jack a little nervous—he wants this to be a date, but obviously Bittle doesn't know that. What if Bittle wouldn't want to go on a date with him? That seems… unlikely? Maybe it took Jack all day (all semester?) to realize how he feels, what all these odd, fleeting thoughts add up to, but when he thinks about how Bittle looks at him—especially how he's looked at him _today_ —he thinks Bittle feels it, too.

But if Jack just starts acting like they're on a date out of nowhere—holding his hand, or pulling his chair out for him, or something—he's just going to be confused. Especially since he thinks Jack is straight.

Okay, Jack decides as the hostess leads them to their table. Step one: Make sure Bittle knows he's not straight.

Jack chews his lip as he looks at his menu. Blurting it out with no context would just make things weird. But how on earth do you casually slip that into conversation? He wishes he'd had this whole realization when they weren't out in public, but too late now. He could wait 'til they're back at their hotel room, alone. But it seems a little weird to go on an _entire_ _date_ with Bittle without ever letting on that there's any chance that it's a date.

He decides that for now, he'll just keep an eye out for opportunities to say… something. If he hasn't managed by the time they order dessert (he's here with Bittle, of course they're ordering dessert), he'll start panicking then.

As Bittle scans his menu, he looks slightly terrified of the contents. After a moment, Jack asks him what he's thinking of getting, and then is sure to reply with something more expensive (which isn't hard, since Bittle, as Jack expected, names one of the cheapest things on the menu). He also insists on getting a couple of appetizers to share.

Conversation flows as easily as it ever has between them. Which is to say, Bittle keeps up about 3/4 of it while at least half of Jack's contributions are chirping.

Maybe if he stares adoringly enough, with a dopey enough smile on his face, he won't have to actually say anything.

 

At some point over their appetizers, Jack is sitting there watching Bittle tell a story in his wonderfully animated way when a sudden realization hits him very hard.

_I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him._

Not _I want to_. Going to. Which is crazy, because obviously Bittle gets a say in that, Jack can't _know_ that, and besides, he only just realized today that he wants to date him at all, let alone _marry_ him. He hasn't even been thinking in terms of being _in_ _love_ with Bittle (even if, okay, now that he is thinking about it, he's very definitely falling in love).

But none of those completely rational thoughts matter.

Because being with Bittle is like hockey.

And, for better or worse, he's never once been able to convince himself to doubt hockey. Not for a second.

 

After their entrees come and they've taken a minute or two to eat in silence, Bittle brings up Jack's career, his NHL prospects, and Jack realizes that there might be an opportunity here.

In fact, Bittle lays the opportunity right out in front of him.

"What about the Aces?" Bittle asks. "I mean, I don't know if you ever even talk to Kent Parson these days, but you used to be friends, right?"

It's an opportunity, but also a whole can of worms. Jack doesn't want to bring the whole night down.

He hums noncommittally, poking at his pork chop. "It's, um, complicated," he starts. "I mean, no, I'm definitely not considering the Aces."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bittle says quickly, before Jack can elaborate. "I didn't mean to bring it up if y'all aren't, y'know, on good terms anymore. Just ignore me."

"It's fine," Jack says, just as quickly. "You didn't know. But yeah, uh. Not really excited to play on a team with my ex, eh? When things… didn't end well."

He looks up cautiously. Bittle had been fiddling with his water glass, and now he's frozen, blinking at his fingertips where they'd been sliding around the rim. Jack looks away and takes a big drink of his own water as his chest tightens. He knows, whatever happens or doesn't happen, he can trust Bittle with this. But the fact remains that the only people he's ever been out to besides Kent are his parents and his therapists. Not even Shitty knows, and Jack is suddenly not sure he was ready for this.

Bittle breathes in sharply—not a gasp, more like he's steeling himself. "Yeah," he finally says. "I suppose that could get awkward, couldn't it?"

Jack looks at him again, and this time he's looking back. He's smiling, but it's sort of a politely confused smile. Then he takes another breath and starts talking again, and everything is back to normal.

Well, nearly normal.

The way Bittle looks at him changes slowly. His smiles start to edge into flirtatious territory. As Jack responds in kind, he grows more confident. Jack's breath catches as Bittle looks up at him from under his eyelashes. Their feet bump and neither moves away.

By the time the waiter hands them dessert menus, Jack is pretty sure they're openly flirting, but he knows he's never been good at judging that sort of thing. Then again, he's usually on the oblivious end of the scale, so for all he knows Bittle is actually laying it on pretty thick.

 

Once they've ordered dessert, Jack leans forward, crossing his arms on the table in front of him. He nudges Bittle's foot with his own.

"Thanks for letting me take you here," he says. "I've had a really good time tonight."

Bittle's blush is deep and adorable. He looks down and plays with his napkin on the table. "You shouldn't say things like that," he finally says. "If you're not careful, it'll sound like this is a date."

"Can it be?"

Bittle bites his lip, but Jack can see the way the corners of his mouth twitch. He glances up at Jack, looking half-coy, half-terrified. Jack holds his breath.

"Is that what you want?"

Jack nods. "Yeah," he says softly. His eyes never leave Bittle's face—he has an excuse now, he can stare all he wants.

Bittle stares back for a beat, looking a little more terrified than coy. But then he nudges Jack's foot back and smiles down at the napkin he's still rubbing between his fingers.

"Well, I guess since you're payin' I better let you call it whatever you please," he says. His tone is light, but Jack can hear how much of an effort that takes.

"Is that… okay?" He knows it was a joke, but the _last_ thing he wants is Bittle agreeing to this—to anything—because he feels like he owes it to Jack.

This time when Bittle looks up at him, there's nothing but fondness in his smile, and Jack relaxes a little. "Of course it is. It's more than okay."

They sit there for a minute, smiling goofily at each other. Then Jack reaches out and puts his hand over Bittle's where it's still fiddling with the napkin. Bittle's blush returns as Jack strokes his thumb over soft skin.

But then Bittle looks quickly around the restaurant. "Is that—y'know, a good idea? In public? Not that _I_ mind, it's just…"

Jack tightens his hand a little around Bittle's. "It's fine. Nobody outside of Samwell recognizes me these days unless I'm with my dad." Bittle's shoulders relax, and he moves his hand a little so he's holding onto Jack as well. "I mean, on campus we'll have to be careful. And once I sign with a team, we… well, we probably shouldn't take any chances anywhere. But that just means we should enjoy this kind of thing while we can, eh?"

"So…" Bittle looks down at their hands, running his own thumb down Jack's. Jack is sure there must be sparks trailing from it. "This isn't a one-time thing, then? You… you wanna… keep… dating? After we get back?"

"If, uh. Yeah, if you want to." Now Jack is blushing. Why? This is all going his way, why is he blushing _now_?

Bittle grins. "I suppose I can live with that."

Their desserts arrive just then, and Jack reluctantly pulls his hand back after one last squeeze.

 

They linger over dessert, comparing epiphanies, making plans, playing footsie, and chirping because it's the only way Jack knows how to flirt.

As soon as they step out of the restaurant, Bittle scowls at the sky. "Seriously? _Seriously?_ " It's snowing again. "This better not turn into another dang blizzard."

"This is barely a flurry, Bittle," Jack says, surreptitiously corralling him away from the restaurant's door and out of the way of foot traffic. Bittle is too busy grumping at the weather to notice himself being corralled, which is cute. "It's nice."

" _Nice_ , says the Canadian. There's already nine inches of _nice_ on the ground!"

Jack tilts Bittle's face up toward his own. The scowl falls away. "It's pretty," he says, and kisses him gently.

"I guess it's not that bad," Bittle murmurs, and presses up to kiss Jack again. After a couple more soft, sweet kisses, he pulls away. "But however pretty it may be, it _is_ freezing out here, and we _do_ have a nice, warm hotel room waiting for us."

His cheeks are already pink from the cold, but Jack's pretty sure Bittle blushes a little when he says the words _hotel room_.

They hold hands all the way to the Metro station. On the train, Jack loops an arm around Bittle's waist and pulls him close so he won't fall over. Bittle pretends to be annoyed, but it'd be more convincing if he weren't smiling so hard.

 

Back in their room, they have to stop kissing long enough to get rid of their coats and scarves and hats and gloves and snow-covered shoes. Not that they don't try to keep going, but that results in a lot of tripping and bumping and laughter, which is fun and all, but it doesn't really make it any easier to kiss.

 

Other things come off more easily, especially when they can help each other.

 

Later, jokes are made about being a _considerate friend_.

 

Bittle burrows way under the covers to sleep. It's adorable. All that sticks out is his hair, but below the thick comforter they're tangled together, Bittle's face pressed into Jack's bare chest. Jack isn't sure how he can breathe like that. Jack kisses the top of his head and runs his hand up and down over smooth skin.

Just as he's drifting off, Bittle jerks awake. "Oh no!"

Jack gasps, tensing. "What?"

"Winter Screw!"

Jack relaxes as the adrenaline starts to drain. "What? What about it?"

"Jack, we both have dates. I'm supposed to go with some rugby guy, and you said you're going with the same girl as last year. We can't just cancel with no explanation, especially since all our friends will be wondering why, and if we can't tell them why they'll never leave us alone about it—"

"Bits." Jack says, stroking Bittle's hair. "It's fine. We go with the people we're supposed to go with, we're very polite to them but we make it clear we're not interested in doing anything but dancing. And having fun with our friends. Like, y'know. Each other."

He can't say he's _excited_ to see Bittle with some other guy on his arm. Or to watch him dance with that guy, even if it's very clean dancing and not the kind of thing Bittle occasionally gets up to with their teammates once he's had some tub juice. Jack might be a little jealous of _that_ , come to think of it, if it weren't for the fact that Bittle is just as willing to dance that way with Lardo as anyone else.

Bittle sighs and burrows back into Jack's chest. "Wanna dance with _you_ ," he mutters.

"I know, bud," Jack says, holding him close. "Someday."

"Someday," Bittle muses. He traces his fingertips from Jack's collarbone down toward his hip. Jack wonders how long it will be, how many times Bittle will have to do that, before it doesn't make him shiver. "We have a someday."

Jack nuzzles into Bittle's hair before he promises more somedays than he should really be promising just yet. Even if he knows he can deliver.

 

The flurries do not turn into another blizzard, and their flight claims to be leaving right on schedule, which means it should be boarding any time now. Jack is leaning against a pillar in the gate area, his arms wrapped loosely around Bittle, who is leaning back against his chest. And who has his nose in his phone, of course. But Jack doesn't chirp him, because he's too busy savoring this—having Bittle in his arms, in public, casually, like it's no big deal at all. Like a year from now it wouldn't make headlines.

"When do you get back from winter break?" he asks, and Bittle looks up from his phone. It takes him a second to process the question, then he wrinkles his nose.

"Ugh, not 'til the second," he says, turning to the side. He snuggles closer Jack, snaking his free arm behind Jack and around his waist. "Don't remind me. _Two full weeks_ of Georgia. _Whyyy?_ "

"The second is good. Does anyone know?"

Bittle looks up at him, brow furrowed in confusion.

"I mean, our friends," Jack clarifies. "Anyone in the Haus or whatever?"

"I… don't think so?" Bittle still looks confused, and maybe a little suspicious. "I doubt it? I dunno for sure, but I don't think I've been walking around handing out my flight details."

Jack smiles. "If they do ask, tell them you don't get back 'til the third."

Bittle pulls away a little bit, but only just enough to see Jack's face more clearly. Not enough to take his arm away from Jack's waist, which is good.

"And why would I lie to everyone about when I get back from break?"

"I fly back on the second, too," Jack says, lowering his voice so he has to lean in close to Bittle's ear. "If nobody's expecting us back on campus until the third, I could find us a hotel room in Boston…"

Bittle blushes, but he's smiling. He rises up on his toes to give Jack a quick peck on the lips. "I like the way you think, Mr. Zimmermann."

He goes back to scrolling his phone, the side of his head resting against Jack's chest.

Jack breathes, and with every breath he feels the comforting weight of his boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> My [Tumblr](http://porcupine-girl.tumblr.com), although I'm spending less and less time there these days so you might want to find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PorcupineGirl8) or [Pillowfort](https://pillowfort.io/PorcupineGirl) instead.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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